Ghost Hand Blues
by Merry Miss Sue
Summary: Craig, Clyde, and Token set out to search for a haunted house, eat some weird sandwiches, and almost die.


Nobody believes me when I tell them about the haunted house in the mountains, generally. I guess I don't blame them much, even with all the crazy shit that happens around here; I mean, stories like that are around everywhere and they're never true. Not even in South Park, Colorado. But for some reason this story stuck with me (out of all stories that I could possibly obsess over, I know), and I still tell people about it whenever I can in the hopes that maybe they'll catch the hint and go explore with me. Craig and Token alone have heard it a million times, but Token's always "busy" and Craig is such a boring uncurious asshole that he's given up even on telling me to shut up about it.

But today is they day I will finally convince them, I can feel it! Today Token will take pity on my soul and agree to go explore and convince Craig to come along. I believe it.

I attempt to stop kidding myself and roll out of bed. Literally roll out, and land with a thump on my carpet, which is totally fine because it's like a million inches thick and super soft. It may also happen to be light purple (my mother keeps saying "lilac" but I don't believe her) but that is not a girly color at all and even if it was I wouldn't care because it's a really nice carpet especially in the winter which is basically all the time, Craig! But not now. Right now it's high summer and we're having a heat wave, which means most of the snow is melted and we don't even have to wear hats and jackets all the time.

I doze off aimlessly on my floor in the midst of pondering clever ways to get my friends to go hiking with me (maybe shocking them with my sudden inclination towards exercise, or paying them $20 each, or whining until they agree), and wake back up to the smell of crepes and my mom calling up the stairs my two of my favorite words: "Clyde! Breakfast!"

There's a little trouble on the stairs, since navigating can be tricky when you're distracted trying to figure out if a name is also a word and if you forget that there's a new rag rug there that slides if you don't step on it right, but I make it to the kitchen and through breakfast okay. "Have fun at Token's!" mom calls as I walk out the door.

Man, sometimes I feel like my life is pretty boring. I don't like doing things alone, and my friends don't usually want to participate in the things I want to do, so I don't get much done. I mean, I eat tacos and wear funny costumes sometimes and play video games and do fun things, but nothing ever happens to me like in the cool movies. Just once I wouldn't mind a zombie apocalypse, or a masked robber, or being a superhero or sidekick, or even just exploring a haunted house. I clench my fist and make a face at the sky. Today…..will be the day that it all changes.

"Nope."

"Come on, Craig! Ple-e-e-ease?"

"No way. I'm not walking for God knows how long up into the mountains to look at some haunted house."

"It will be fun!"

"Shooting people on Token's gigantic screen TV is also fun."

"But that's not real!"

"Just the way I like it."

"You'll get a lot of exercise."

"Don't need it."

He doesn't, either, the bastard. He walks around filming stuff and being weird so much that he's actually pretty fit. It's not like I'm fat or anything, but I'm still jealous of the speed at which Craig can run a mile.

"Pretty please?"

He makes a face at me. It's one of his vast collection of "no" faces, which are virtually indistinguishable to the untrained eye, but my eye is very trained by ten-plus years of best friendship. This is Craig's "I don't really want to but I am so goddamn sick of you asking I am actually considering giving in to your demands to make you shut up" face. This is progress. The sweet smell of victory sneaks into my lungs.

I glance swiftly at Token, who is lounging on an armchair, watching the debate with a faintly amused expression. As far as exploring a haunted house goes, I think he'd be fine with it. Actually he seems pretty ambivalent about the whole situation, which is a little unusual. Of course, I've been pestering both of them about this things for so long it's probably ceased to even become an issue with him. It's probably just one of those things that's normal now.

I sigh and look pleadingly at Craig. "I'll give you ten dollars."

He makes a surprised elephant noise and raises an eyebrow. "You seriously want to go _that_ bad?"

He probably doesn't even need to see my super-earnest nod/puppy dog eyes combo to know that I'm doing it. I'm not expecting much, but to my utter delight he exhales loudly and says "Fine. I'll go if Token says he'll go too."

Token jumps up and says "I'm in" right as I throw myself into a full-blown happy dance. He joins in with this perfect just-too-dramatic-to-look-serious dance move that apparently he learned from a theater troupe while he was on vacation in France or Belgium or Russia or something. Whatever it is, it's hilarious enough to make even Craig crack a smile, which he is definitely doing by the end of our routine even though he is obviously trying very hard not to.

"We're going today, right?" I ask excitedly, and Token jumps with an "of course" and even Craig is nodding, caught up in the enthusiasm, and before any of us knows it we are out in the woods with three backpacks and a map.

Token's backpack has mostly medicinal supplies in it because "you never know", and Craig has the backpack with all the food on the grounds that if I had it I would "probably sit down on a log and eat until there was nothing left and then go back home". My backpack has all the weird shit in between, which includes:

_three flashlights_

_one cardboard container that new packs of playing cards come in, containing as many unused batteries as we could stuff in_

_one length of spare thin rock-climbing rope that was inexplicably in Token's closet_

_one carabiner clip_

_one rubber ducky that was already in the backpack_

_one standard-issue Swiss Army knife with convenient scissor attachment_

_two books about surviving in the wild, covering subjects such as shelter, traps, fishing, edible plants, and staying alive_

_three books about ghosts and ghost hunting_

_one short iron crowbar I tripped over while leaving Token's garage_

_one can of Kosher salt because according to our Ghost-Hunting for Dummies book salt fucks with ghosts_

_five packages of ten glow sticks each_

_one fork_

_one extra pair of gloves_

_one packet of dry packaged oatmeal_

_two lighters_

_two memo pads_

_nine assorted pens, pencils, and markers_

_one package of Ricola cough drops_

_one stretchy glow-in-the-dark lizard_

We had no idea what we were going to run into up there, so we figured it would be best to be prepared for anything.

The part of the forest we're walking through is one of those old places that everybody went to once on a field trip when we were like eight and never went back to again because the teachers made it seem so boring. It's actually really nice, though, now that I'm older and can appreciate it more. The pines are closely spaced enough to keep the ground relatively snow-free (especially since it's summer), but not close enough that they're hard to walk through. It's really quiet aside from our stomping, but it's not eerie. It's just calm. I decide that if I have to get out of the house and get exercise I might like this kind of exercise better than the kind that involves jogging and going to the gym.

"You're mumbling to yourself," Craig says, immaculately deadpan. "Maybe you're possessed by the ghost we're hunting."

"It doesn't _possess_ people, asshole," I say, with an air of superiority that I almost never get to use with him. "It _kills_ them. Token, are we close yet?"

"We are so lost," Token mutters into the handmade (by me!) map he's holding, turning it with a vague air of hopelessness. "Hey, Clyde, tell us the story again so that Craig can remember all the details."

"Oh God, no, not again," Craig groans, putting his face in his hands before tripping over a tree root and having to uncover his eyes, but I've already shot him a cheesy smile and started talking.

"Okay so the story goes that, like, years and years ago some rich asshole millionaire built a house way up in the woods somewhere around here because he liked the 'calm' and 'peacefulness' or something, and he spent tons and tons of money on it and it was like the coolest place ever and everybody was really jealous. But because he was a rich _asshole_ millionaire he was like 'bluh, no, I don't want to share my super-awesome house with all you guys bluhr bluh bloor' and spent all of his retirement days just sitting on his deck shooting at people who came to try and see his house, kind of like those guys in 'Secondhand Lion' except more asshole-ish. Anyway, the house was built up against a huge cliff wall and had that gigantic river on one side and a marsh on the other side so literally the only way to get up there without dying or being shot at was by going and looking up front, which also involved getting shot at. So nobody got to see more than the outside of the house from like a mile away or something. But one day one of his servants found a place in the basement that was back behind all the utilities and things, I think it was a closet, and it led to a cave that turned into a tunnel that went through part of the mountain and came up on the top of the cliff, in part of a place that doesn't allow people in it because it's part of a national forest for it."

I sneak a glance at Craig. Despite himself he looks like he's listening intently now, though he's feigning disinterest by looking overly bored.

"The servant is like, 'I've got some friends who would pay big money to see this house up close and personal and I can get them in through this tunnel', and within like three days has the rest of the servants in on his plans and starts sneaking people in when the rich asshole billionaire is sleeping. At first it's all like sightseeing and being able to brag that they saw the inside of the house nobody can get into, but one day one of the servants thinks, 'since nobody ever sees the guy anyway, we could just sneak someone in to kill him and then take over the house ourselves', and shares the plan with the rest of them. All of them think that it's a good idea except for the servant that originally found the cave, but he pretends to go along with it and then waits until dark, when everybody else is asleep. Wait, do you guys hear water?"

Token stops and listens. "Actually, yeah. Maybe we _are_ going the right way after all."

"It'll be a miracle if we are," Craig mutters, then, to me. "What happens next?"

"Uh, let's see, where was I? The servant guy waits until dark, everybody's sleeping… oh yeah. He waits until the whole house is asleep, not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse, and then goes into the rich asshole millionaire's room and quietly wakes him up. The asshole millionaire's like 'what' and the servant's like 'everybody else in the house is plotting to sneak someone in to kill you through the tunnel through the mountain under the house, so that they can have the house to themselves' and the asshole's like 'shit' and then he's like 'wait how did you know about that tunnel' and the servant tells him he just found it one day and then says 'c'mon we have to get out of here' but the asshole's like 'no it's a trap you're in on it too!' and shoots the servant with the gun he always sleeps with. The servant falls down dead and the asshole sneaks out of his room, gun loaded, ready to sneak out of the house and make a break for it. But little did he know the other servants had already snuck in a mercenary, who had heard the gunshot and gone towards the guy's door. The mercenary was like this gigantic guy dressed all in black and bald, with a gas mask over most of his face, and he sounded like this when he breathed, _hsshhhh hsuuuuuuh_, like Darth Vader except less obnoxious and funny and he made a jump for the guy right as the guy fired three shots in the direction of the sound. The mercenary managed to break the asshole's neck just before he himself died, so they were both dead. But it gets worse, because back in the kitchen one of the servants was lighting a candle in the living room for some light when one of the other guys sticks a knife in his ribs. The knife guy wants the big house all to himself, so he's been killing off everybody else, and the candle guy was the last one. But the candle guy had suspected the knife guy of foul play so he had soaked his own shoes in gasoline and right as he died he managed to drop the match on them. The fire spread from his shoes to the carpet to all the rest of the house, which was mostly wood, and everybody died. The, like, shell of the house is still there, and rumors say that there's a ton of money hidden in an unburned vault somewhere, but apparently everyone who's ever gone treasure hunting there has gone 'mysteriously missing'."

Craig raises an eyebrow at me. "So remind me why we're going again?"

I cackle and wiggle my fingers at him. "Didn't you know, Craig? It was part of my evil plan all along!" There's a stick on the ground in front of me, and I grab it and wave it at him. "But now that you've found out, I'll just have to kill you here!"

Craig scrabbles around for a stick and comes up with one similar to mine. "You fool! Did you really think I didn't know what you were planning? You can't kill me!"

I look around pleadingly. "Token! He's found out!"

Good old Token's already folded up the map and grabbed a stick. "Don't worry Clyde," he assures me, "he won't stand a chance against the two of us."

Craig grabs another stick and brandishes them at us. "Blackguards! Traitors! I'll take you both on, and win, too!"

We're about a minute in to an all-out swordfight (stickfight?), dodging behind trees and jumping on top of rocks and basically just running around getting completely lost, when Craig finds it. I can tell it must be really really cool because he actually sounds really excited, which happens so infrequently I'm told there are legends about it among the younger legions of South Park citizens.

"Guys," he's yelling, "guys, over here! I found it!"

Token and I drop our battles to the death and run towards Craig's voice. We are not disappointed by what we see.

It's a huge burnt-out shell of a house, like the story said, built partway up a cliff and covered in years and years of moss and vegetation. Most of the main support beams look undamaged, only blackened, and a lot of the floor still seems to be around, although gaps and breaks in the boards with yawning blackness below probably show the fate of animals who explored in the places over the basement. The fire was apparently so intense that it burned the cliff face, too, because there's a long black streak playing up the rock, partially obscured by moss. The yard is long overgrown and difficult to distinguish from the rest of the forest; eerily, the front door of the house and its frame are still standing, though its obvious supports are long gone.

I voice with quiet awe what everyone is thinking. "Fucking _tits_."

"This is awesome," Token agrees, joining my stage whisper.

"Stand still," Craig orders me, rummaging through my backpack.

"What are you getting?" I ask, trying to twist my head around without moving my back too much.

In reply Craig hands me a flashlight, tosses Token another, and keeps the last one. "It looks pretty dark in there," he adds by way of explanation. A gentle groaning sound sweeps over the grass.

"It's just the wind through all the holes in house," I say out loud, nervously, taking off my backpack and fumbling for the crowbar. "Let's go."

We all advance cautiously, playing our useless flashlight beams around (it's still too sunny to really need them, except for maybe if we explore the basement), but no threat appears and eventually we lighten up a little. I store the crowbar back in my backpack and tie my flashlight to my belt loop and start wandering around, stepping carefully in case the floor decides to pull a fast one.

It's a little known fact about me that I really love climbing, so this place with all its support beams and some floors intact is extra exciting because to get anywhere you have to climb! Soon all of us, not just me, are balancing on rafters and jumping carefully from beam to beam and by the time we've explored almost the whole house we've all totally forgotten about the ghost story that goes with this place.

Then Token says "let's explore the basement" and we all remember at the same time. Suddenly all of the shadows we just played in look ominous, and the holes in the main floor begin to gape more menacingly.

"Let's eat lunch first," I motion, and there is instantaneous agreement. We sit in a patch of sunlight and unwrap our odd assortment of food items such as cookies, bread, sliced meat, cheese, chips, raisins, baking soda, prunes, sugar, soda, club soda, mustard, water, a jar of jelly, and crepes.

Token raises his eyebrow at the mess. "Okay guys, which one of you packed the food backpack?"

Craig and I point at each other simultaneously. "We were in a hurry," I say by way of further explanation.

Lunch turns out to be pretty good, though, once we've assembled regular sandwiches out of meat and bread and cheese and chips and mustard, and crepe sandwiches out of crepes and sugar and jelly and raisins, and put everything else but the soda away. We eat as slowly as possibly, looking nervously at the holes to the basement, and making stilted guesses about what's down there.

"Ghosts."

"An axe murderer."

"Two axe murderers who killed each other."

"The Loch Ness monster."

"Rats and bats and vampires."

"Werewolves."

"Aliens."

"Giant killer guinea pigs."

"Poor people."

"Al Gore."

"Timone and Pumba."

Eventually, though, we're all out things to eat and running low on remaining daylight before we have to get back. It's now or never, and all three of us know that if we don't do this thing we will live in shame for the rest of our lives.

I get out the crowbar, hand the salt to Craig and the Swiss Army knife to Token, and switch on my flashlight again.

There's a set of dilapidated but still miraculously intact stairs in the far corner of the house that lead down into the basement, now known as the Hell Hole in my mind. We step and creak cautiously down them, swinging our flashlight beams wildly from side to side. This room of the basement, at least, seems empty of everything except for a few bat skeletons, which I survey with horror and fascination.

"Clyde stop retching over a few old bones and get over here," Craig calls. "We might be able to open this door."

I approach reluctantly and on the count of three we push mightily against the door. To our surprise and vaguely mounting terror, it glides smoothly open and deposits us painfully on the floor in the doorway. We are now in the laundry room, if the rusted and warped washer and dryer are anything to go by. Getting painfully to his feet on my other side, Token elbows Craig in the ribs. "Look, bro, your favorite room."

"Very funny," Craig mutters. "I like them better when they're not in haunted houses."

"Aw, c'mon," I say teasingly, going to pose theatrically in front of one of the dead machines. "They've got a certain…..charm."

I'm stopped from monologuing about washing machines by the look of unadulterated terror that is currently stamped on my best friends' faces.

"What?" I ask nervously, pretending that I am against a solid wall instead of presenting my back to seven feet of open space and twisted metal behind me. "Washing machine jokes not funny enough?"

"There was something behind you," Token croaks, grabbing my arm and pulling me back to them so that all of our backs are up against a concrete wall, although we are also next to the suspiciously free-moving door. "I think it's gone now."

Craig has gone the unusual color of curdled milk, although his voice sounds the same as he tells me, "It looked like a shadow that a really short skinny person would cast. Like, tiny."

I am not tiny nor skinny. I swallow nervously, something I thought was only done in old movies or bad fanfiction. I'm about to suggest we cut our losses and leave, full exploration or no full exploration, when the voice happens.

It's low and hollow and kind of groan-y, like whoever's speaking is in pain, and I have no idea where it's coming from. Token is staring at the door like it's there, Craig is staring at the washing machine like it's there, and I'm staring at the ceiling like it's _there_, so at least one of us is wrong and all of us are terrified. It's not saying anything that I can make out clearly, but it's either my imagination or some of the words it's mumbling sound incredibly similar to 'kill'.

"In hindsight," I remark quietly to myself, "this was the most _pants-on-head retarded _thing I have ever decided to do."

"It's definitely up there on the list," Token agrees, eyes huge, clutching the Swiss Army knife to him.

"Hey Craig, let's go explore a haunted house," Craig is muttering to himself, can of salt at the ready. "Craig, it'll be fun. I'll give you ten dollars if you'll just explore this house with me. I bet it's not really haunted, Craig, come on. Don't be an asshole, Craig."

"Now seems as good a time as any to tell you I hate you," I whisper to him.

"I should be the one telling you I hate _you_," he whispers back.

"Shh!" Token chokes at us. "I can understand some of it now."

I direct my attention back at the voice.

"…en thousand million curses upon you, a plague upon your family and your family's family, I've been stuck under this rock for decades waiting for that fucker to just move it so my spirit can be free, I just want to head into the light, coming in and talking to me every day, trying to figure out where the safe is, I might cry, there is no safe, do you hear me? I'm going to kill you, as soon as you let me out, I'm going to kill you, he slept on a mattress stuffed with his money, there is no safe, it all burned…"

I look at Craig and Token, who judging by their faces have probably reached the same conclusion as me. As one we turn and edge out the door.

It probably would have been a slow and stately exit because we're all too freaked out to do anything, but then something creaks upstairs like footsteps and we all panic and run.

I pound up the stairs, stuck last and noticing with detached hysteria that they're shaking and splintering under our combined weight, fling myself onto the landing and keep going as they explode into scrap wood and dust behind me. There's a huge dark shape in my peripheral vision and Craig and Token are at the entrance screaming me into a run, yelling at me to duck as something swings towards me and I put on an extra burst of speed as I see an axe thud into wall support next to me.

I'm barely out of the house and still sprinting with Craig and Token next to me when I hear the house groan. It's different than the ghost's groan, full of splinters and relief, and we can't help but turn to watch as slowly, majestically, one side of the house crumples inward.

I've lost sight of whoever was trying to kill me in the resulting dust cloud as the rest of the house is dragged down by its own inertia, but I don't need eyes to hear the scream of despair echoing from the house.

We pelt the entire way down the mountain before we manage to stop and lie panting on familiar ground.

"What…the fuck…was that?" Token manages finally, and we all shrug wordlessly at him.

"Okay," says Craig, sitting up and clutching a stitch in his side. "I have…an idea."

We all look at him.

"Let's go…shoot imaginary people…on a TV screen."

We haul ourselves to our feet as one, and begin the trudge back to Token's house in the evening twilight.

****!*!*!*** NARRATOR'S NOTE!

Apparently after our whole escapade which was terrifying and none of us slept for a week, there were rumors about a really angry wind blowing around and knocking over hikers who went near the house so either we supremely pissed of the laundry room ghost or that guy who was trying to kill me died and came back as a ghost and is still fucking with people so the moral of the story is PLAY VIDEO GAMES! DO NOT GO OUTSIDE!


End file.
